Horizontal stripes are apparently cool.

So we should apologize
for laughing at you
at brunch when you said
that horizontal stripes were recently cool
and we should say Sorry
for choking out a “WHEN?!”
with throats full of orange juice.

Because after our table was bussed
and we got up
and new Oakland hipsters took our places
we moved on to that vinyl sale
where like seven different people
were wearing horizontal stripes.

Maybe horizontal stripes were cool once
and then they weren’t cool
but then the argument became irrelevant
and after further consideration
maybe now they’ve
reached the peak of modernity: post-irrelevant.
So incredibly pointless
that it suddenly matters so much.

Two men who didn’t know each other
were standing side by side in line
at the bagel place wearing the same shirt.
These are the casualties of fast fashion.
In an Instagram age we question
each stitch of each piece
of each hashtag o o t d.

In the end, it all matters so much
that the whole thing becomes incredibly pointless.



this night
is a majestic monster
blowing breezes through my hair.
from here,
San Francisco is a small galaxy
made up of tiny
yellow stars
clustered together, not
worried about tomorrow.
there is a cat hiding
under a Jeep that
someone left
in our driveway
weeks ago.
a friend, seated near me,
clacks away against his keyboard,
and rewriting
and rewriting.
the trees, and the lilies, they


Seeking Companion for Time Travel

Seeking Companion for Time Travel.

Preferably someone I’ve already met; hoping to avoid an extensive interview process. So if you don’t know me, please do not reply.

At this time I can only travel into the future; please no inquiries to go fix past mistakes or alter history.

How far we travel into the future is completely up to you. Of course, because we have no way of predicting what events may occur between now and then, the actual date we choose to travel to is completely arbitrary, and we will have to deal with the consequences of our decision once we arrive. Return trip not guaranteed.

At this time I haven’t quite mastered how to travel through space very easily, so if you want to come along you must be in the San Francisco Bay Area or willing to relocate.

I believe I have enough supplies for two people, but there is room in the machine for more stuff if you have anything you would like to bring along.

Safety not guaranteed. I can say with some certainty that it will probably be fun.


Desert Rain, Part 3: Parting Gifts

These days,
sometimes it rains,
sometimes it doesn’t.

When it rains, it pours.
I’ve said it before:
the rain here
falls crazy hard.

It’s like the sky knows
I’m leaving,
and it is making
my departure easier
by acclimating me to
where I’m going.

Raindrops blessing me
like parting gifts
from a good friend
I have chosen to abandon.

When it doesn’t rain
the sky is blue.
So, so blue.
I wonder if I will ever
see this
blue again.



The past is the past and we only move in one direction.
But when looking back we group memories by years.
So really my professional successes
and my adventures
and my resolve
to make something of myself
None of it means a damn thing.
2015 will always be the year
I broke an engagement
and it will always be the year that Hannah died.
So, pardon my French,
but fuck this last year.
Let’s get onto the next one already.



Sing me your song
sweet sliver
of a silver moon.
Sing to me of days of rage
pacified by dark sky delight.
Sing your grieving lullabies
I want to hear
the secrets you hide
in your dark side.

Smile on me, dear moon.
Tell me I have a space up there
seated by your right arm
in your holy place among the stars
I want to believe
that humans are not confined
to this blue marble.

Tell me how long,
Tell me, O moon,
How long before I
may walk on you
I want to plant flags that never wave
I want to take one small step
that leaves a footprint forever.

Tell me you’ll wait for me
Tell me you won’t hold your breath
I’ll get there
I’ll make it
I’ll see you,
Dear beautiful image of
Earth’s only moon
I’ll dance on your dark side.
I’ll see you soon.


What Are You Gonna Be?

Hey Yael,
he casually asked,
What are you gonna be
for Halloween?
I smiled smugly
and gave him the same
smart ass answer I always give:
I’m gonna be 26 years old.

Halloween is my birthday.
So every year
I go out dressed as
someone who looks kinda like
the same person as last year
but a little older,
a little wiser,
a few more wrinkles on my face.

No, he said,
(breaking pattern from others
to whom I have given that
same smug smartass answer
by pushing the question further)
I mean,
What are you going to BE?

He meant,
What is your costume?
So at the time I told him,
You know,
I never dress up for Halloween.
My costume is always
“Hey! It’s my birthday!”
and that tends to get more people
buying me drinks than if I were
dressed as Captain America
or a slutty nurse
or whatever.

But, upon reflection,
I should have answered honestly.

What am I going to BE
on my birthday?
I’m going to be the most genuine
version of myself imaginable.
I’m going to be brave,
unafraid to take risks,
ready to fail, to fall,
in the name of living
squeezing every drop out of this sweet
short trip around the sun.

I’m going to be fun.
I will throw caution to the wind
knowing I have the greatest
safety net of all
in the people who know and love me.
I will be the person dancing
with every step,
the person jumping at
every opportunity.
I will be that bearded weirdo
that you wish you could be more like.

I’m going to be just
and righteous, standing up
to wrong when I see it,
defending those who can’t
defend themselves.
This is the one I say every year.
I am always aware
that I could be doing more
to defend justice.

But most importantly,
I’m absolutely
one hundred percent
going to be myself.
Undiluted, unfiltered,
impossible to contain.
That same eccentric person
you’ve always known and
have always had
polarizingly strong feelings about,
but a little wiser,
a little older,
a little more facial hair,
and a few more wrinkles.

That’s what I’m gonna be for Halloween.